Doomed
by the silence in between
Summary: How was she to know that, in that single instant, she'd just doomed three innocent people before they'd even been born? A story of Ivy and her children told in three parts. Mentions of Julian/Ivy, Sam/Ivy, Fancy/Luis.


**Author's Note** — This is yet another fic that I started writing in March 2008 and never finished. It was supposed to be a piece about Ivy that reflected somewhat on her children's birthdays — June 15, 1975 (Father's Day) for Ethan; December 31, 1980 (New Year's Eve) for Fancy; November 26, 1981 (Thanksgiving) for Fox; and March 15, 1983 (The Ides of March) for Pretty. But alas, I only ever wrote these three parts. I have no idea what the rest of the fic was supposed to look like anymore, but I was re-reading these and thought that they made a nice little arc of sorts, so I finished up the last piece and now present it to you, gentle reader. :P

**Disclaimer** — _Passions_ is the property of James E. Reilly and NBC. I make no claim to its ownership, and I make no profit from this exercise in creativity.

* * *

**December 31, 1980**

She collapses against her pillows, a thick layer of sweat drenching her exhausted body. Seventeen hours... but it's over. She's done it.

"It's a girl!" the doctor cries, lifting up the squalling pink infant so that mother and daughter might see each other for the first time. "And with less than a minute to spare," he marvels, checking the clock.

He places the tiny little girl into her arms, and Ivy's heart breaks. She's a beautiful baby, with her mother's soft blue eyes and pale blonde hair, but all that Ivy can focus on is her daughter's nose — the Barrett nose. Julian's nose.

She loves her daughter, truly, because she's half of her, like Ethan, but it's so hard to see herself in her newborn — all that she can see is Julian and the Cranes. She looks down at her baby's face, and she sees the evidence of her fateful choice personified. Maybe, once upon a time, she could have had a life with Sam and Ethan, but it's really too late now — she's Julian's wife, and they have a daughter, physical proof of their union.

She hears cheers erupt in the hallway outside, and she looks up at one of her doctors in confusion. "It's midnight," the slightly balding man says, answering her nonverbal question. "Happy New Year to you both, Mrs. Crane." With a smile at the minute-old infant in her arms, he asks, "Have you decided on a name for your daughter?"

Something in her chest lurches at the question. For the longest time, she's wanted to name her first-born daughter Sarah, but, in her fantasies, her baby girl has Sam's smile and the Bennett chin; this baby girl in her arms isn't Sarah, no matter how much she wishes that she were.

"No," Ivy whispers, kissing her baby's blonde, fuzzy head. "No, I—I had a name picked out, but it... it's not right for her."

The doctor nods. "That happens sometimes. Don't worry about it too much; you have plenty of time to make a decision."

She nods, looking back down at her daughter. Her cries have quieted now, and she silently stares up at her mother with her big, blue eyes. Ivy can see the future reflected in her baby's eyes, and though she wants desperately to do something to avert such a fate for her child, and though she knows that she will try her hardest, she also knows that she will fail her baby girl; she was doomed from the moment of conception.

**

* * *

June 14, 2008**

"How could you do this?"

She doesn't answer; Ivy thinks that maybe the intense hatred surging through her youngest daughter's body has fused her jaw shut. It doesn't really matter, because loathing radiates from Pretty's eyes sufficiently enough that she doesn't need to speak to express her emotions.

"Ivy, I've got to take her down to the station," Sam whispers, his hand tightly gripping Pretty's arm perhaps more forcefully than he would another suspect. Her maternal instinct, the one she only ever let herself feel with Ethan, wants to lash out at Sam for this, but it's too weak, always too weak with Julian's children, and she's too angry...

"I know, Sam, I just..." she sputters, fury and dismay and sorrow tying her tongue into knots, "I don't _understand_." She speaks to Pretty now, trying to force the rage out of her voice. "How could you do this to your sister? You and your grandfather, you forced yourselves into her brain and you took away her _freedom_, Pretty." When she fails to alter her defiant glare, Ivy continues, "You've damaged her relationship with both Luis and Marty — you made her say such hurtful things to both of them."

Pretty begins to smile, as if the memories of her crimes are somehow pleasant to her, and Ivy feels something within herself snap. "This is not _funny_!" she screams. "Your little stunt tonight almost _killed_ your sister! Do you understand that? Do you understand that your sister lost so much blood tonight that she's on her second transfusion? Do you understand that she might lose her baby because you made her slit her own wrists?" Pretty starts to laugh, and the sound of it, the sight of that self-satisfied smirk on her face, they're agonizing.

A loud _smack_ reverberates through the warm night air, and Pretty stumbles, but it's not until she feels the familiar stinging on the palm of her hand that she realizes that she's just slapped her own daughter across the face. She stares in horror at the younger blonde, whose broad grin has faded into a grim smile. Pretty lifts her hands, bound together by handcuffs, and pushes her hair away from the right side of her face; the crimson handprint on her left cheek acts as its twin.

"You dare to ask me why?" Pretty hisses, voice laced with venom, and like this, Ivy can't help but think that her beautiful daughter, so frequently compared to roses and orchids and lilies, more closely resembles a Belladonna blossom. "After what she did to me? After what she _took_ from me?"

Ivy shakes her head, tears forming in her eyes. "It was an accident, Pretty, she didn't—she didn't mean it. She felt so guilty because she loves you so much. Doesn't even the tiniest part of you love her, too?"

Pretty laughs bitterly. "Love Fancy? How could you expect me to love Fancy if you can't even bring yourself to do so?"

And Pretty hasn't raised a finger, but Ivy's reeling like she's just been slapped back, and, oh, God, she can't _breathe_...

"We've got to go now," Sam says brusquely, pulling Pretty into the car, and Ivy just clings to the gate doors outside the estate, not even bothering to wait for Sam to drive away to let the tears pour down her face. If she didn't have the gate to hold on to, she'd surely crumble to the ground, because her lungs refuse to take in any air at all.

There's a hand on her shoulder, and she knows it's Julian without sparing a glance. She lets him take her into his arms, lets him hold her close to his chest so that she can remember how to breathe again. Slowly, slowly, the tears and the shaking end and her chest resumes its rhythmic motion.

She pulls away and wraps her arms around her chest protectively, as if to hold herself together. It's after midnight, but the moon and stars are bright tonight, and she knows that Julian is watching her face closely.

"It's Ethan's birthday today," she finally whispers, because her body has been so closely attuned to this date for thirty-three years now. It began before then, though, didn't it? Before Ethan's birth, before her wedding — it all started when she met Sam, right? With just one glance he'd swept her off her feet and thrown her into a whirlwind that she's still caught up in today, and she'd never regretted it, because how could she have known? How were they to know that, in that single instant, they'd just doomed three innocent people before they'd even been born?

**

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September 17, 2008**

She knocks softly on the door, lightly enough to go unnoticed by the sleeping. Fancy is awake, though, and tears her gaze away from her newborn long enough to smile at her mother.

"How are you feeling?" Ivy whispers, carefully placing her purse down on a table next to the hospital bed.

Fancy's face blossoms into a pure, beautiful smile. "Amazing," she replies. "A little sore, but I just look at her and none of it matters, you know?"

Ivy nods knowingly. "She's a beautiful little girl," she says, taking in her granddaughter's smooth, pink skin and soft tufts of blonde hair. "She looks so much like you did when you were born."

"She has Luis's eyes," Fancy smiles, seeming to radiate pure joy and love as she looks down at her sleeping daughter. "They're already the most gorgeous shade of brown. Maybe she'll wake up a little bit later so you can see them."

Ivy smiles. "Luis said that you're calling her Lola?" she asks, stroking the child's tiny head.

Fancy nods, turning to look deep into her mother's eyes. "Lola's short for her middle name, Louise." Very softly, she adds, "Her first name is Nicole."

The air seems to rush out of Ivy's lungs, because she's been trying not to think about that, because she's been trying to focus on Lola, but then Fancy adds, "I'd wanted to do it anyway, as a middle name, but then she was born _today_, and, well, Luis and I thought it was maybe a sign or something," and it's all too much. Her baby's gone, cold, and the world has still rotated, revolved; the terrible ache in her heart that's threatened to end her has had no impact on the rest of the world, and it should, because he was _Fox_ and so special and wonderful...

It takes several deep, steadying breaths to calm her enough so that she can choke out, "He would have been so honored, Fancy."

There are tears in Fancy's eyes as she replies, "Maybe not... he always hated Nicholas. He thought it was too 'proper' or something."

Ivy chuckles, and it makes her mouth hurt a little. It feels like it's been forever since she laughed, or smiled. Tears well up in her eyes. "How did you turn out so wonderful?" she ponders aloud.

"Who, me?" Fancy snorts. "Did you forget about my entire existence up until two or three years ago?"

"But you've always had such a good heart," Ivy protests. "Even at your worst, you never meant any harm. Not like..." She trails off, remembering her youngest two children's schemes and crimes.

Fancy sighs, then looks down at Lola. "Fox and Pretty weren't bad people. They just... Fox was desperate, and Pretty's sick. But they _were_ good — and Pretty will be yet, I know it."

Ivy smiles ruefully. "See? Forgiveness. I don't know where you learned that from." She looks down at her lap, ashamed. "It certainly wasn't from me. I could never forgive the three of you for being Julian's children, even when you were babies. When you needed me the most, I turned my back on you..."

Placing her hand on her mother's, Fancy says, "You're here now. That's all that matters."

Ivy shakes her head. "It's too late for Pretty. Far too late for Fox."

Fancy sniffles, wiping her eyes. "It's not too late for Lola." With all the tenderness and care of a new mother, she places her baby in her mother's arms. "You can still give her all of the love that you could never give us."

Ivy glances down at her newest grandchild, and for just a moment Lola opens her eyes. Fancy was right; her little girl has the prettiest, most refreshing eyes. Through her tears, she whispers, "Thank you."

Fancy smiles, although hints of sadness still linger in her eyes. "I love you, Mother."

Ivy knows that she doesn't deserve her daughter's kind words; all of her children, Ethan included, deserved a much better mother than her. She will regret this fact until her death. But at least, she thinks, she can rest easy knowing that Lola will have the most loving and kind mother in the world.


End file.
